


The Ugly Sweater Affair

by LittlebutFiery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Minor Gallya, Ugly Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlebutFiery/pseuds/LittlebutFiery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gaby is put in charge of planning a Christmas party for UNCLE, Illya is unwillingly roped into her plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ugly Sweater Affair

When Waverly called Gaby into his office for a private meeting, she was expecting a serious discussion, perhaps even a solo mission.

She was not expecting the single question that came out of Waverly’s mouth as soon as she walked into the room.

“How would you like to plan a Christmas party for UNCLE?”

Gaby stopped in her tracks, caught off-guard by the strange question. “What?”

“You heard me, Ms. Teller. It’s a new organization, so I thought it might help morale and build camaraderie to have a little Christmas get-together,” Waverly smiled blithely at her.

“Why don’t you ask Napoleon? He loves fancy soirees,” Gaby countered, annoyed – just because she was a woman did _not_ mean she was going to be the designated party planner.

“Because I don’t want this party to run through UNCLE’s operating budget. I understand you probably didn’t go to many parties in East Berlin, but you have a sensible head and fine taste,” Waverly replied. “So I would like you to plan it.”

Gaby shrugged, mollified by his explanation. “Okay, why not.”

*

It had been easy to convince Napoleon to come to the party – even though only the date and time was set, and nothing else – as well as the other UNCLE agents Gaby ran into as she was leaving Waverly’s office.

The large Russian man sitting on the couch in their hotel suite, however, was a completely different story.

Gaby tossed down her purse as she walked back into the hotel room and said in a singsong voice, “I’m going to a party and I need a date, Illya.”

His sigh was audible even through his newspaper. “Ask Cowboy. He loves parties.”

“Not exactly who I had in mind,” Gaby pouted, although Illya was still resolutely holding up his newspaper.

Illya was silent so Gaby pleaded dramatically, “Please, Illya.”

He finally lowered his newspaper, looking very put upon. He asked lightly, “And what is this party?”

“The UNCLE Christmas party,” Gaby replied.

Illya put his newspaper back up. “No.”

“Oh, come on!” Gaby persisted.

“No.”

“It’ll be fun!”

“Parties are _never_ fun.” Gaby could picture the scowl on Illya’s face even despite the newspaper he was hiding behind.

“I’m planning this one!”

“Definitely not coming.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Gaby demanded, hurt.

Illya lowered the paper again. “It means, everyone will want to come because you are you, and there will be plenty of alcohol because you are you. The only thing I hate more than big social gatherings is big social gatherings full of drunks.”

“It’s a Christmas party, Illya. Nobody’s going to get drunk,” Gaby protested. When Illya gave her a skeptical look, she amended reluctantly, “Only a _few_ people will probably get drunk.”

“My answer has not changed,” was the terse reply she got as the newspaper went back up.

“Illya – ”

“No.”

“But – ”

“No.”

“Oh, come –”

“No.”

Gaby stopped, trying to think of a new plan of attack. She sauntered around behind the couch, resting her chin on Illya’s broad shoulder. He didn’t even deign to look at her, although Gaby could tell he wasn’t exactly reading anymore, either.

“You know how I am at parties. Just think of all the fun we can have after I’m a few drinks in,” Gaby murmured in his ear.

Illya turned to face her, looking both annoyed and skeptical. “You are trying to convince me to come to your party by telling me you’ll get drunk and I can take advantage of you.”

Gaby blinked. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“You should have sent Cowboy to negotiate for you,” Illya replied, turning away again. When Gaby didn’t move, still plaintively looking at him with her chin on his shoulder, he sighed in frustration and rubbed his temples. “Fine. Fine, you win. I will come to this stupid party with you. But I won’t enjoy it.”

Gaby pressed a swift kiss to his cheek and all but bounced away. “And, of course, you’ll help me set up for it too.”

When he heard her door close, Illya let out a frustrated, annoyed noise and crumpled up his newspaper.

*

Gaby was hanging up decorations in the small hotel ballroom when Illya walked in, looking utterly miserable. She jumped down from her ladder and greeted with a smile, “Illya!”

“You said I would set up. Here I am,” he replied dully.

“Don’t look so excited,” Gaby teased.

“I’m not,” Illya scowled.

“Wait…what are you wearing?” Gaby realized.

“What I always wear,” Illya replied. “You’ve never complained before.”

“This is a Christmas party, you have to be festive!” Gaby frowned. She went and dug in one of the bags sitting on the floor before exclaiming, “Aha! This will work.”

She stood back up, holding a sweater. Illya blinked, looking mildly disgusted, and asked, “What is _that_?”

“A Christmas sweater,” Gaby replied. “That you’re going to wear.”

“That thing is a crime against humanity,” Illya protested.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Gaby waved him off, knowing full well the sweater _was_ that bad. She had purposely found the most hideous sweater she could to force upon whoever wasn’t festive enough.

“I would not be caught dead in it,” Illya accused.

“Good thing you aren’t dead, then,” Gaby smirked.

“I would not be caught alive in it, either,” Illya grumbled.

Gaby came closer to him, an innocently pleading expression in her big brown eyes. Illya groaned in frustration, knowing full well there was no way he was going to win this fight. Gaby pleaded, “Please, Illya? I can’t have my date be so…unfestive.”

Illya glared back, desperately trying to cling to his resistance, before he sighed and hung his head. “Fine. Give me the atrocious sweater.”

He stalked off to change; Gaby couldn’t stifle her giggle at his frustration. She continued decorating in his absence, which seemed to be much longer than necessary. Gaby imagined him mournfully staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to convince himself to leave the bathroom, and laughed again.

When Illya finally returned, he looked even more miserable than before, so miserable Gaby felt a little guilty. Not guilty enough to let him take the hideous sweater off, but guilty enough to try to make the situation a little less awful.

She jumped down from her ladder again and walked over to the far side of the room, over by the exit, which was still fairly sparsely decorated. Gaby called, “Illya, can you help me over here?”

The man sighed, grumbled to himself, “I don’t see why not,” and shuffled over to help her. He came up behind where Gaby was digging in a bag and asked, “What do you need?”

“Can you take this bag over there for me?” Gaby asked, nudging another bag with her foot. Illya glared at her – she could easily do that herself – but picked up the bag and was about to walk away when Gaby exclaimed, “Wait, stop!”

“Yes, _now_ what?” Illya grumbled.

Gaby bounced back to her feet and pointed up, drawing Illya’s attention to the small green plant hanging above them. “We’re under the mistletoe together. You have to kiss me before you can walk out from under it.”

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of Illya’s mouth. “You did this on purpose, chop shop girl.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to do everything around here?” Gaby smirked back.

Illya, rising to her challenge, set down the bag he was holding and pulled her into a kiss. It was much longer than Gaby was prepared for, as she wriggled against his hands a little. Illya let her go, trying to hide his smile that he at least got back at her a _little_ for all the misery this party was causing him.

The smile on Gaby’s face, though, made hiding his impossible. He finally caved and admitted, “Maybe this party won’t be that bad after all.”


End file.
